Mission Wisdom
by Small J
Summary: Just a short little dribble --longer then a drabble, shorter then a story.-- Obi-Wan has to deal with idiotic delegates. Can he get them to listen?


**Author's Note: **Just something that came out. I have had to sit as a mediator between two idiots before. Honestly, sometimes a mediator isn't needed at all; they just need to scream at each other until there is nothing left to say. Thought I would share a bit of my wisdom in the form of a couple of Jedi. Nothing serious here, just a dribble of fiction.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Star Wars or any of their characters. I do own the two disputing groups, the room and all the materials in it as well as the idea. No take-y!

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_Oh, for the love of the force…._

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, this had to be the worst moment of the whole mission. Yoda was convinced that the young apprentice, somehow, had what it would take to finish the negotiations in under a week.

Yelling filled the room as chairs scraped along metal floors. Obi-Wan leaned back in his own, head falling behind him. Rubbing both hands across his face, he heaved a weary sigh. The week had past. What was worse, the week had passed almost a month ago. He lifted his head, surveying the room.

Ten ambassadors, five on each side, stood scattered about the room. Some, he noticed, had made their way around the long table to stand toe to toe. Others simply leaned their weight across the table, palms threatening to leave dents, as they seethed insults.

The room itself was spacious. It could easily have sat thirty individuals and had space left for the unused refreshment table. Though the room was covered in protective metal plating it was bright and cheerful. Bay windows looked out over vast and rolling fields allowing light to swamp the chamber. The metal fittings glistened and gleaned in the light, giving the room a friendly glow.

Obi-Wan shifted to stand, taking a selfish moment to run his hand down the armrest of his chair. Once more, the thing was covered in metal. The difference with the wall and table, however, was the type of metal. The Cash'ka used a special metal, refined in the outskirts of the main city, for some furniture_. Living metal_, the apprentice mused. While the chair was in no way living, having no force signature of which to speak, it was always warm. No matter where the metal was attached, be it outside in the dead of winter or the cold warehouses, the metal was warm to the touch and soft as silk. It was a shame, then, that the Cash'ka refused to export this rare material. _The Jedi could use some softer chairs_, Obi-Wan had joked when he had first arrived. _Should have kept my mouth shut_

Taking the gavel he had been given to keep and restore order, he paused. The gavel was in the air, ready to strike once more when the student hesitated. Looking around him, an idea formed. Placing the gavel gently on the polished table, Obi-Wan once more settled into the warm chair to wait.

Half an hour went by followed by the next thirty minutes and yet another. The sounds began to fade as the delegates ran out of both insults and air. Several found themselves clutching their abused throats, attempting to sooth the raw damage. Still, Obi-Wan waited. After almost three hours the chamber fell silent.

He gazed around the room.

The delegates had seated themselves, at last, and where attempting to heal their damaged throats with warm tea and peppermint oil. Obi-Wan allowed him self a smile, or smirk, as he would later be told.

"Gentlemen," he began, "how are your throats?"

Glares bored into the apprentice, but he ignored them.

"It seems that every other word or suggestion from me causes an uproar. While it is amusing to watch grown men lower themselves to the standard of an offended youngling—"

Here, several glares turned from the apprentice, instead aiming at the table, the wall or air itself.

"—I find it difficult to help you. I was asked to negotiate a treaty for both the Cash'ka and the Nem'too. I was asked to be here by both parties, not just one."

He paused, looking around the room, attempting to make eye contact with at least one of the delegates. Remarkably, all averted their eyes as his gaze fell on them.

"Now, if I may, I would like a word in edge wise. All those opposed?"

Wheezes and rasps filled the room once more with sound as the wounded delegates tried to speak. Whither it was to oppose the apprentice was irrelevant.

He began again, "Since I do not hear a clear and resounding 'nye' then I will take silence as a conformation of the positive. Now, lets take a look at article one, paragraph three again."

The spacious room filled with sound once more. This time, though, it was the sound of paper turning and robes shuffling as delegates settled themselves in for a long meeting.

Obi-Wan stretched his arms to the ceiling, feeling his spine and shoulders pop. Stretching farther, his body arched within the chair before sagging boneless into the polished metal. The room had cleared several hours ago and the apprentice had finally managed to clean the mess that had been left. The delegates from one side or the other had attempted an uprising or two; however, coughing fits left them drained and sore, forcing them to listen. As Obi-Wan let his arms fall to rest comfortably on the arm rests the door swished open, displaced air hissing.

"How was your day, my master?" He asked, not having to look.

Qui-Gon eyed his apprentice a moment before striding across the room in soft swishes of earthy robes. Raising large calloused hands he began to knead his student's shoulders. Obi-Wan, not willing to ignore a gift so freely offered, let his head fall towards his chest.

"Better then what you had to manage with," rumbled the aged master. Digging his thumbs into Obi-Wan's shoulder he added, "how did you manage to get a final draft agreed to in one meeting when you couldn't even get past the first article in one month?"

Obi-Wan let a serene smile soften his lips as he sighed. He leaned back forcing his master to stop messaging his shoulders and simply rest them.

"Remember when I had to take care of the younglings?"

Qui-Gon snorted, "Which time?"

Obi-Wan rose his left hand limply and patted Qui-Gon's. The older Jedi knew his apprentice wanted to hit him, but the mental exhaustion was beginning to take a physical toll.

"The first time, master." was the reply, only half heartedly trying to sound annoyed.

Qui-Gon nodded, knowing Obi-Wan couldn't see the action. He opened his mental shields a bit wider, letting compassion and understanding filter through to the tired Jedi. He felt Obi-Wan respond in kind as his mind filled with warmth.

"There was that one youngling who kept throwing a tantrum when ever someone tried to tell him he had done something wrong."

Qui-Gon remembered that. Obi-Wan had been beyond weary when he had made it back to the apartment they shared. Even his cloths seemed to hang heavy on his slight frame, as if the mental trauma had transposed itself to his body.

"I kept trying to reason with him," Obi-Wan continued. Turning around in his seat, he looked up into his master's face. "You were the one to get him to see reason. Do you remember how?"

Qui-Gon tilted his head to the side, remembering clearly. The child wouldn't stop his tantrum to listen. Brining up his behavior only resulted in another tantrum. No matter how much his apprentice wanted to comfort the raging child, Qui-Gon had held him back. They simply watched and waited as the child tired himself out. Once he had no energy left, Qui-Gon simply explained the error of his ways. The boy never had another tantrum.

He looked down at his apprentice's face and replied, "I highly doubt respected delegates would be thwarted in such a manner. Once the energy is expended they simply wait until their strength is back. They are stubborn creatures, Obi-Wan, and are not easily ignored."

Obi-Wan's lip twitched as he flicked his apprentice braid over his shoulder. "True, if it was a heated debate. This, master, was a screaming match. I simply had to wait until they all blew out their vocal cords. They did try to protest several times, but anything above a respectful whisper was far too painful. Some times, master, one must forget how to speak in order to learn how to listen."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, squeezing the younger man's shoulders. "How very wise, Obi-Wan. If you would, though, I would like to have my words back, I think you have taken them for long enough."

It was Obi-Wan's turn to snort. "I am very sorry, master, however you gave them to me in a lecture so they are mine now. Feel free to use any of my wisdom as trade."

"Theif." egged the master

"Spoil sport." sniped the student

"Hungry?"

"Always."

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And there you have it. Short little snippet with no reason to be but to be. Highly doubtful that this will end up as anything more then it already is. If you want me to expand it into more chapters of see some form of series out of it, then by all means, bug me for them.

Once more, a super big thanks to those who take the time to leave a review/comment. Even bigger thanks to RoMythe for sticking with me and reading these pathetically short things. I WILL finish reading your story and leave comments, it is on my to-do list. I encourage everyone to go and read it, too. You never can tell from a summary how good a story is going to be so give it a shot, ok?


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